


Vengeful Mind, Hopeful Heart

by Cain_D



Category: Silent Hill (Video Game Series)
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Anal Sex, Blackmail, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Implied/Referenced Pedophilia, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Power Imbalance, Prison Sex, Sexual Coercion, Silent Hill: Downpour, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2021-01-16 10:01:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21269207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cain_D/pseuds/Cain_D
Summary: On Murphy's first day at Ryall State Prison, he catches the attention of a certain correctional officer.





	Vengeful Mind, Hopeful Heart

Revenge could drive a man to do stupid things. It was bringing Murphy to Ryall State Prison, where years of uncertainties awaited him. There were stories about what men did to each other in prison, but he tried not to think about them as the transport van passed through the steel gate. He’d been silent for the whole trip, staring at the wooded countryside of Maine, and now his breaths sounded loud to his ears. If he didn’t get paroled, this was going to be his new home for nine damn years, assuming he lived that long.

“Welcome home, sunshine!”

The driver, M. Koons, pulled to a stop alongside the correctional facility. Murphy was the only prisoner on board, having been taken away in cuffs after his sentencing. His personal possessions were inside a shoebox on his lap, and his clothes were on his back. Green jacket, faded black t-shirt, blue jeans, and worn boots. Soon he would look like the rest of them, clad in tacky stripes, bright orange, or whatever else. It was the mark of society’s trash, housed together in a giant cage with thirty-foot concrete walls, barbed wire fences, and eight guard towers.

Two officers in blue uniforms were waiting outside, including one that brought tension to every muscle in Murphy’s body. This guy, G. Sewell according to his name tag, had a smug smile and glittering brown eyes that promised trouble. His black-gloved hands held a baton, slapping it against his palm occasionally. The other man, F. Coleridge, had his hands folded over his groin. He nodded once at Murphy, an action that wasn’t reciprocated.

Officer Willis emerged from the van’s passenger side, slamming the door shut behind him. He opened the next, which led into the back, and remained outside while he barked the orders. “Alright, prisoner! Time to get moving!”

Murphy scooped up his shoebox and slid out of his seat. He dragged his feet past the empty seats on either side. How could he have sacrificed his freedom for a scumbag like Patrick Napier? A pedophile wouldn’t last long in prison. If Murphy didn’t kill him, someone else would get revenge for Charlie’s murder.

“We don’t got all day. Now move!”

He continued at his own pace, sickness churning in his stomach.

“Looks like we got a troublemaker on our hands.” The smooth voice was tinged with humor, belonging to Sewell. His eyes followed Murphy’s descent down the van steps. “I’ll take over from here.”

Willis strode to the steel doors that led into the prison. They rattled open, ending with a loud clang that made Murphy flinch.

“Feelin’ a bit scared there, cupcake?” Sewell asked. “Don’t worry, we have a nice welcoming party inside.”

His half-smile failed to calm Murphy’s nerves. There was something in the brown eyes that rubbed him the wrong way. What the hell was up with this cupcake crap? Trouble was definitely ahead. Sewell’s eyes shifted sideways to Coleridge, whose stiff posture said a lot about his relationship with his fellow officer.

“What’s the matter, Frank? You don’t trust me with our new guest?”

Coleridge tipped his head slightly in Sewell’s direction, sending a silent message to Murphy. _Watch yourself._ He turned to the doors and strode toward them, his departure causing the smile to widen. His uniform was different, long sleeves versus Sewell’s short sleeves, tie versus no tie. He carried himself with the confidence of a man who had a higher rank, and his blond hair had some grey. Senior officer.

Sewell waited until Coleridge was out of sight before sliding his baton into the holder on his utility belt. He gave Murphy a brief pat down and then jerked his head to the open doors. “Let's get you checked in.”

It was a slow walk, each step bringing Murphy closer to the cage. No, he’d been stuck inside since the front gate had closed. When would he feel the sunlight again? He paused in front of the doors, head tilting up to the cloudless sky, bangs ruffling in the gentle breeze.

The brief moment of calmness didn’t last, interrupted by the woody scent of aftershave or cologne. Too close, directly behind him. He made the last few steps and took a shaky breath, barely having time to exhale before the doors shut. This section was referred to as Block B according to the painted words on the wall ahead. An elevator was near them. To the right was a reception area and a long hallway, sectioned off by steel bars that extended from floor to ceiling. The left side was also barred, containing a set of double doors that led down another hallway. Somewhere in this maze, there was a pig waiting for slaughter.

“One thing at a time. I’ll give you the grand tour later.”

The baton pressed against his back, urging him to the reception gate. It slid open and he stepped through, approaching the desk. The two officers were protected by what he assumed was bulletproof glass. Davis, the nearest one, pointed to the shoebox.

“We’re gonna need to check your belongings to ensure there’s no contraband.”

A narrow slot enabled Murphy to slide his shoebox to Davis, who removed the lid and set it upside down. Six black and white photos were taken out, each flipped over to examine the backs for any taped items, and then they were placed into the lid. They depicted an orphanage, Murphy holding a newborn Charlie with Carol lying on the hospital bed nearby, Charlie flying a kite with Murphy's help, a canyon in his hometown of Brahms, a bridge and train, and the looming Victorian house where Murphy wasn’t welcome anymore.

The next item was a leather-bound journal. Its pages were blank, ready to be filled with memories of his time here. When alone in his cell with only his thoughts for company, writing would help him come to terms with everything. Davis placed the journal with the photos, but he didn't do the same with the pen. He disassembled it, leaving only the bendable insert to write with.

Murphy snorted. Yeah, he’d stolen some stuff to survive after he’d left the orphanage at sixteen, he’d gotten into a few fights on the street, and he’d put Carol through a lot of shit before and after the marriage. But he wasn’t a murderer. Not yet. What did these guys think he was going to do? Stab a poor fuck in the eye?

Sewell nudged him with an elbow. “Somethin' funny, Murph?”

First cupcake and now Murph. Maybe sugar would be next to keep up with the pattern. He clenched his jaw, ignoring the question as the examination continued.

A colorful Father’s Day drawing depicted Charlie passing a wrench to Murphy in front of the house. Nearby was a green car with its hood up. He’d been a good kid who’d always tried to help. Six years old, taken away by a monster.

The last items were his keys and wallet, which contained his driver’s license, bank and credit cards, and five bucks. Davis sealed them inside a clear bag labeled _Murphy Pendleton, RS 273A_. After putting the bag into a drawer, he placed the photos, journal, drawing, and the remains of the pen into the shoebox.

“You’ll get this back later.” Davis gestured to the double doors. “You know the drill, Sewell. Take him to an intake cell.”

The doors swung open automatically and the baton urged him forward again. In the long hallway, the destination was the first door on the left. Sewell unclipped a keyring from his belt and unlocked the knob. As if Murphy couldn’t enter by himself, the fucking baton herded him into the cell like a sheep, and the door was pushed shut. A tiny window offered a view of the peeling beige paint across the hallway.

He walked to the counter in the corner, joined by Sewell behind him. A greenish-grey jumpsuit, three black t-shirts, three pairs of white boxers and socks, and a belt rested on it. The middle of the belt had a metal ring, allowing handcuffs to be fed through. Black boots completed the uniform. Not nearly as bad as he'd expected.

“Figured you'd be a size eleven. Was I right?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m gonna need you to face me and take off your clothes once I uncuff you. I’ll check you out and then you can get dressed.”

Sewell’s tone was too innocent for a man with the eyes of a snake. They glittered in the fluorescent light as Murphy turned to face him. Sewell was about the same height of 6’1. He wasn’t as broad-shouldered and bulky, but he still had the build of someone who trained his body regularly instead of sitting behind a desk and eating doughnuts all day. His black hair was slicked back, slightly receding. No grey. Late thirties to early forties, and armed with a baton he wouldn't hesitate to use. In this situation, obedience was the most important thing. The only thing. There weren’t any security cameras in this cell.

The baton returned to its holder on his belt. His other hand still held the keys, which he used to unlock the cuffs. A red ring had been left on each wrist. Murphy stalled for time by pretending to examine them. He’d never gotten naked in front of another guy, and Sewell was standing mere inches away. Close enough for the woody scent to become noticeable again. Taking a step back, Murphy gave himself more breathing room, his ass pressing against the edge of the counter. The half-smile also returned.

“Empty your pockets first.”

He turned his jacket and jean pockets inside out, proving their emptiness.

“Now for your clothes.”

He unzipped his jacket and shrugged it off, finding some relief in the stifling confines of the cell. A gloved hand extended to accept the jacket, and Sewell tossed it into a corner near the door. The concrete floor looked like it hadn't been swept in months, dust and grime covering every inch of it, but a dirty jacket was the least of Murphy’s concerns. He pulled his t-shirt over his head, ignoring the extended hand in favor of tossing the shirt himself. The sooner this was over, the better.

Lifting each foot off the floor, he removed his boots and socks. He did the same when pulling his jeans off. If he were to bend over, his face would press against Sewell’s groin, and the thought wasn’t tempting at all. Sewell kicked the clothes toward the others, leaving only black boxers to remove. Murphy stared at them until a hand tipped his chin up, forcing him to look into the snake's eyes. Another hand rested on the baton.

“Boxers too.”

It was just a dick and pair of balls. Nothing to be ashamed about when they weren’t particularly small. Murphy nodded and the hand returned to Sewell’s side. He slid his boxers down, letting them fall to the floor, and stepped out of them. After kicking them away, Murphy forced himself to look at the smirking face. This fun couldn’t be more one-sided.

“Tilt your head down and run your hands through your hair.”

He did as he was told. Over the years, he’d kept the same hairstyle, parting his brown hair asymmetrically to have his bangs fall across the right side of his forehead. Upon confirming that nothing was hidden, Sewell pulled a miniature flashlight from a pouch on his belt to get a closer inspection. Even snakes could take their jobs seriously at times.

“Fold your ears and turn your head so I can check behind them.”

The flashlight shined on the back of both ears. The insides were also checked, as were his nostrils. Murphy sighed when Sewell finally lowered it.

“I don’t do drugs. Hell, I don’t even smoke or drink.”

Sewell flicked the flashlight up. “We gotta be sure. Open your mouth.”

The roof of his mouth, his cheeks, and the area under his tongue were checked. Without needing to be told, Murphy pulled at his lips to expose his gums. Sewell's eyebrows rose.

“You done this before? I didn’t see any priors in your file.”

“No. Just common sense I guess.”

Sewell nodded slowly and slid the flashlight into his pouch. “Well, I’m sure you can guess what’s comin' up soon. Extend your arms and spread your fingers apart.”

Murphy could guess, given his nakedness, but he tried to push the thought aside as he extended his arms. His attempt failed miserably, an image of being bent over the counter flashing through his mind. He swallowed hard. Sewell hadn’t touched him except for the chin thing, so there was no reason to be worried. He hadn’t overstepped any boundaries. Why would he start now?

“Arms up.”

His underarms were examined, free of hair. He hadn’t lived a fancy life by any means, having moved between dingy apartments after the divorce, but personal hygiene was important. The hair on his face and body was never allowed to get too scruffy, regardless of him not wanting to get out of bed in the mornings.

“Everything looks good so far. We’re almost done.” Sewell squatted. “Lift your penis.”

“Uh...” Murphy rubbed a hand over the stubble on his jaw, torn between the weirdness of the request and the fact that Sewell just said penis. The word didn’t fit such a crude guy.

“C’mon now, princess. This is standard procedure. Lift your fuckin’ dick for me, will ya?”

Gently grasping the end, Murphy lifted his dick. There was enough space to prevent Sewell’s breath from touching him down there, but this was the first time that a guy had gotten this close to his junk. His annual physicals had been performed by a female doctor.

“I gotta see behind your balls too.” Sewell looked up. His smirk hadn’t gone away. “You’d be amazed by what we find in the strangest places.”

“I’m sure.”

With a heavy sigh, Murphy lifted his balls. It felt like he’d been in this goddamn cell for an hour, but it only took seconds for Sewell to rise. He gestured to the counter.

“Turn around and bend over.”

Murphy tried to step back, but he had nowhere to go. “I’m not hiding anything. I swear.”

Sewell’s eyes swept over his face. “Look at that, Murphy. I finally got a reaction out of you. You’re blushin’.”

Heat prickled Murphy’s skin as he turned around and pressed his palms on the counter. Sewell wouldn’t do anything wrong to him here. He couldn’t. The reception area was only a few metres down the hall... separated by this cell door and the other set. Would they hear if anything happened? Why was he even worried about this? It was just protocol. Sewell had probably done this hundreds of times.

“Oh, cupcake... I’m hurt that you’d think of me in that way.” Sewell leaned closer until warm breath touched Murphy’s ear and a sizable bulge pressed against his ass. “I know why you’re here, but I won’t tell anyone. You just gotta do a few things for me.”

“Fuck. You.”

Sewell let out a low chuckle. “I was thinkin’ the other way around.”

“Find somebody else to be your bitch,” Murphy gritted out, hands clenching into fists.

“There’s nobody as pretty as you.” Sewell reached for Murphy’s bare chest, chuckling again when his hand was swatted away. “Guys get lonely in here. We don’t allow conjugal visits, you see. Suppose I turn a blind eye... what do you think would happen?”

Murphy didn’t reply, his dry mouth only able to open.

“We can help each other. I’ll give you some time to think about your answer.” Sewell stepped back, relieving the pressure. “Now put your fuckin’ clothes on before I change my mind.”

The order wasn't needed. Murphy had already snatched a pair of boxers off the counter. He stood on a wobbly leg as he slipped the other through, then repeated the process and yanked the boxers up. The only response to his haste was a snort of laughter, causing his face to prickle with heat again. He couldn’t even recall the last occasion when he’d blushed. Maybe this was another first time. Blushing for this asshole? What the fuck.

“We have a long day ahead of us. Stop daydreamin’ about my dick in your ass.”

Sewell wasn’t given the satisfaction of a response. Instead, Murphy got dressed as quickly as he could, putting on his t-shirt, jumpsuit, socks, and then boots. He didn’t dare to bend over for any of it, relying on his balance. The uniform was completed with the belt, which he slid around his waist until the ring faced the front. Bright yellow text provided his RS 273A prisoner identification, located across the left side of his chest, down the right side of his body, and across his back. He turned to Sewell, feeling far safer when face to face.

“Lookin’ good. Walk over to the height chart. Time for your mugshot.”

Murphy walked there and stood stiffly while Sewell unlocked and opened a metal cabinet beside the counter. It was filled with shelves of folded prisoner uniforms and black letter boards that said Ryall State Corrections Facility at the top. Sewell grabbed a board and fiddled around for a minute. When he turned around, added lines were revealed: Pendleton, M with RS273A below it. He leaned forward and extended his arm, passing the board.

“Hang tight for another minute.”

A camera stand was located across from the height chart. Sewell stepped behind the stand and made a few adjustments, peering through the lens. Murphy held the board in front of his chest as he waited for the flash.

“Jesus, Murphy. Now you’re lookin’ like someone just pissed in your cereal. Lighten up, this ain’t the end of the world.”

He’d already gone through this crap in the police station after he’d gotten arrested, but this was worse. He was inside the cage, dressed like just another criminal, all sense of individuality lost. And just a few minutes ago, he’d felt more vulnerable than he’d ever felt in his thirty years, but he forced his face to relax into blankness.

“What does it take to get a smile outta you? Fuck.”

Never in a million years would Sewell get a smile. A few seconds of silence passed and then he sighed heavily. The flash came and the letter board clattered to the floor, released from Murphy’s grip.

“You can’t be throwin’ prison property around like a little princess.” Sewell strolled to the middle of the cell, gripping his belt. “Pick it up.”

Murphy kicked the board, making it slide across the floor. It stopped at Sewell's boots. A dangerous smile crept over his face as he slowly tilted his head up to lock eyes. He caressed the handle of his baton, leather glove creaking with each movement.

“I’m thinkin’ you _want_ some discipline. Am I right?”

Murphy crossed his arms. “You know better.”

“I don’t know, cupcake... you’re sendin’ me mixed signals here.” Sewell squatted and picked up the board. The sick bastard’s pants were a bit tighter. “You better watch yourself or I’ll have to give you a lesson in authority. I tell you to do something, you do it.”

Murphy gestured to the board and re-crossed his arms. “You seem to be doing it just fine.”

Sewell’s chuckle was humorless as he turned to the cabinet. It took everything in Murphy’s power to stop himself from clearing the distance in a single stride and choking him out. Sewell deserved no less for betraying the trust that should exist between officer and prisoner. How did people like this get their jobs? Out of his peers, the only person who could see the snake was Frank Coleridge.

“I know what you’re thinkin’, Murph.” Sewell ambled toward the cabinet as if he had all the time in the world. He put the board inside, grabbed a clear bag from a box, closed the doors, and locked them. The handcuffs clinked together as he returned, taking the few extra steps to stand in front of Murphy. “You’re thinkin’ of that goody two shoes.” Sewell's smile faded, lips pressing into a thin line. “We don’t like snitches in here.”

“Feeling a bit scared there, Sewell? Afraid you’ll get exposed?”

He snorted dismissively. “How do you think I got assigned to you? My buddies make jack squat for the shit that goes down. Money talks.”

No wonder Coleridge had backed off, despite being the senior officer. There hadn’t been a choice because Sewell had pulled strings behind the scenes. Murphy leaned the back of his head against the height chart and closed his eyes, hands falling limply to his sides. This kind of shit probably happened everywhere. No reason for self-pity when he was just another number.

“There, there.” Sewell patted him on the shoulder. “Everything’s gonna be just fine. You do a few things for me and I’ll do a few things for you.”

Murphy’s eyes stayed closed. “You’re not giving me much of a choice.”

“There’s always a choice, princess. But only one right answer.”

The bag crinkled as clothes were put inside it. When the noises stopped, Murphy opened his eyes and raised his hands to his belt.

“I didn’t even have to ask. I think we’ll get along great.”

Sewell threaded an open cuff through the belt ring before securing both hands. A long chain extended between them, allowing more mobility than standard cuffs. They were looser than before, but no thanks were said for this small favor. This didn’t make up for the attempt at blackmail.

Whistling cheerfully, he strolled to the counter and piled the spare boxers and socks onto the t-shirts. The stack was placed onto Murphy’s waiting palms and then Sewell grabbed the clothing bag. He pulled the cell door open and stepped aside, gesturing into the hallway.

“Ladies first.”

This man knew exactly how to hit the wrong buttons, but Murphy kept his face neutral as he walked into the hallway. He turned right, heading for the double doors. The cheerful whistling followed him through, stopping once they shut.

“Everything good, Sewell?” Davis asked.

“He’s clean. We got a model prisoner on our hands.”

A model prisoner? That was a far cry from his earlier comment about troublemaking. Murphy continued walking to the reception desk, where he waited to be acknowledged. The side door opened and Davis accepted the clothing bag from Sewell. It disappeared under the desk after a brief inspection.

“You got any friends or family on the outside?”

Murphy nodded at Davis. His ex-wife was out of the picture, but he had a few friends in Brahms, not too far from here. He’d grown up with them at the orphanage and they’d agreed to help him out with the occasional deposit.

“Good. You’re gonna need money if you want anything from the commissary. All they need is your name, prisoner ID, and the prison address if they want to send you some. You can spend a max of three hundred bucks a month. You’ll receive your first work assignment on Monday, and any wages you earn will be put into your commissary account. Questions?”

He had a lot of questions, one that bothered him the most. How could he stay safe when he’d just met a corrupt officer? But he remained silent. Sewell was beside him, slapping the baton against his palm.

“Guess not.” Davis slid the shoebox, a prisoner handbook, and a labeled laundry bag through the slot, enough for them to land on the pile of clothing in Murphy’s hands. “Take him to his cell.”

“Alright, Murph. We’re goin’ for a ride.”

Sewell jerked his head to the elevator, waiting for him to go first, and Murphy dragged his feet through the automated gate leading out of the reception area. An officer shouldn’t show his back to prisoners, but there was another reason why Sewell always wanted to walk behind him. The bastard was probably imagining all sorts of sick things on the way there.

The elevator was protected by sliding doors and a metal gate that thumped and clanged open. Murphy stepped inside, trapped in a tiny space with his favorite person in the world. The third floor button was pressed by Sewell.

“You’ll be on the top floor. I got a special place picked out for you.”

“Can’t wait.”

The doors opened and the chatter in the dim hallway came to a stop. The right side was made up of metal grating that allowed officers to look at the lower floor. Six cells were located to the left, each holding a prisoner. These doors were also open. Was it recreation time? Murphy kept his gaze on the gate ahead as he approached it.

“Looks like we got fresh fish in town!”

“Hey, pretty boy!”

“C’mere, little bitch... got somethin’ real big for ya.”

“Keep walkin’, punk!”

“What you in for? Eh?”

Sewell likely had a smirk on his face, making no effort to silence their comments and catcalls. This was reinforcing the idea that he was needed for protection. The last prisoner was silent, a small mercy, but the bullshit would start up again soon enough.

The gate rattled open, leading to double doors which also opened after a brief delay. The three cells in this area were different, protected by solid steel doors. They had to be for solitary confinement, and while Murphy could appreciate solitude, he doubted his sanity would last long. Thankfully the destination was elsewhere. The baton pointed the way, directing him to the left and down a long hallway filled with more prisoners on both sides. At the end was another set of double doors. His salvation.

“Hey, puto!”

“You like suckin’ cock?”

“I bet he does!”

“Fuckin’ fag, look at him. Probably takes it up the ass every day.”

“You stop by anytime, sweetheart. We’ll take care of you.”

“Pretty boy’s gonna take it all. Better be ready.”

“Oh man, there’s gonna be some cheek bustin’ tonight!”

“Gonna turn you out!”

“Don’t drop the soap, man!”

The shouts were muffled once he was on the other side of the doors. A bit further down, there was a gate that added extra protection to this next hallway. It was brighter over here, natural light provided by the large windows that extended to the right. They were grimy and barred, but they offered a less gloomy atmosphere than the dimly-lit sections he’d passed through. No sounds emerged from the line of cells. As he neared the end of the hallway, he understood why. All of them were empty.

“Told you I picked out a special spot.” Sewell used his baton to tap the bars on the last cell. “This one’s yours.”

This part of the prison was eerily quiet, making Murphy flinch when the cell door slid open by itself. He stayed outside, examining the interior from afar. Single shelf without anything on it. Tiny bed without a blanket and pillow. Chalkboard without chalk. Sink without a mirror, comb, soap, toothbrush, and toothpaste. Dirty toilet without toilet paper, a lid, and a seat.

“What do you think? Feels like home, don’t it?”

“Looks like shit.”

“Oh c’mon, it ain’t so bad. Should see what some of the others look like.” Sewell flapped his baton through the doorway. “Put your stuff inside so you can meet the doc. You gotta do a health interview.”

“I’m healthy.”

Sewell sighed and shrugged. “Rules are rules. You know that, cupcake.”

“I also know you like to break them.”

Murphy entered the cell, walking the few feet to the bed near the back left corner. He dropped the clothes, shoebox, laundry bag, and handbook onto it. Never would he bend over in Sewell’s presence. At least the hallway had several security cameras, their red lights confirming they were activated. Sewell wouldn’t try anything now.

“You’re frownin’, Murphy. What’s going through that pretty head of yours? Don’t tell me you’re daydreamin’ again.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

Sewell stepped to the middle of the doorway and casually leaned against it. His voice lowered as he slapped the baton against his palm. “You sure got a mouth on you. Keep it up and you’ll be doin’ somethin’ better with it.”

“Yeah, well... if you want to keep your dick, you should keep it in your pants, _cupcake_.” Murphy walked up to him and tugged on the chain, making it strain against the belt ring. If only he could wipe that smug smile off Sewell’s face. “Get out of my way so I can meet this doctor.”

Sewell moved aside and raised his baton in a mock salute. “Sure thing, princess. I’m yours to command.”

Murphy opened his mouth for a retort as he continued down the hallway. No, that would only make Sewell even more turned on. His pants had gotten tight again from this stupid exchange. He was the type that loved defiance. It supported his power trip. But other than defiance, what else could there be? Definitely not submission. It would be a cold day in hell before that happened.

“Keep goin’ straight. We’re takin’ the stairs this time.”

At the end of the hall was a sign. _ATTENTION ALL INMATES. NO TALKING DURING MOVEMENT. WALK IN A SINGLE LINE. STOP AT THE END OF EACH HALL._ With another gate and more double doors, there was no choice but to stop until they opened. A security station appeared on the right, staffed by a single officer named Decker. The man nodded at Sewell through the window. He had the same sort of cunning eyes that spoke volumes. If Sewell wanted a favor, he could get one.

A short distance away from the security station was a tool room. It was filled with lockers and also had a single officer staffing it. He sent a seedy glance this way, leaning back in his chair with his feet resting on the desk. This prison was a haven for lowlifes, both prisoners and officers alike. The only blessing was the lack of cells in the area.

Downstairs, there was no such luck. The instant when Murphy reached the bottom, the shouts started again. Punk, pretty boy, faggot, cocksucker, and bitch were just a few of the insults thrown. The big room had dozens of cells arranged in three layers on each side, along with hallways to the north and south. Shabby grey couches, their stuffing visible in spots, held several groups of inmates in front of a tiny television. It was playing a comedy show, but everyone was too interested in laughing at him.

Without any directions to guide him, Murphy froze after stepping through the gate. Sewell merely stood there in his smug glory, palming his baton. Finally a different voice rang out.

“Hey! Quiet down in here!”

A blanket fell over them. Footsteps approached from the southern hallway, and Coleridge appeared once he’d reached the entrance. He glanced between Murphy and Sewell, who wasn’t looking so smug anymore, his gaze hardening.

“Where you two headed?”

“None of your business, Frank. I have this covered.”

Sewell gestured to the hallway ahead. Before resuming the walk, Murphy gave an appreciative nod to Coleridge and received one in return. These prisoners were rowdy, but they seemed to have respect for this officer. He had an aura of goodness. His blue eyes were warm, unlike the dark eyes of the snake. Sewell muttered something under his breath, too low to hear, once the next doors and gate had closed.

_“Jealous, Sewell?”_

The question was begging to be asked, but Murphy didn’t do it. The answer was already clear, and asking would only dig a bigger hole for himself. A hole he still didn’t know how to escape from.

An infirmary sign was located beside the first door to the right, providing a diversion from Sewell’s sour mood. He banged his baton on the metal door. When it opened, he jerked his head for Murphy to enter and didn't follow him inside. Officer Martinez was standing near the doorway, and his eyes narrowed as he gave a head to toe inspection. He closed the door and put his hand on his baton. Great. The suspicious of everything type.

Beds lined the side walls, some occupied by injured prisoners who were sleeping. One with a broken neck, another with a stab to the gut, and a guy whose head was a swollen mass of black and blue. In the middle of the aisle stood Doctor Brown. Nothing brown about him. Pasty skin, white hair, white lab coat, white trousers. His eye bags told of a man who’d seen a lot of shit over the years. He glanced at Murphy’s cuffed hands and then his face.

“Murphy Pendleton?”

“Yeah.”

“Please come with me.”

Doctor Brown walked with a limp and stooped posture, heading for a door at the back. It was one of the few doors that didn’t open automatically, having a simple lock on the knob. Easy entry in case Officer Martinez needed to respond to trouble. The inside of the office was plain, containing a desk with a clipboard and two wooden chairs. He sat behind it and sighed heavily.

“You can close the door.”

“I’m fine.”

So what if anyone heard? Murphy sat on the chair at the side of the desk, finally able to rest his hands on his lap instead of keeping them aloft. Brown removed a file folder from a drawer and placed it onto the desk. A few sheets of medical gibberish and tickboxes were inside the folder. Peering over his glasses, Brown examined Murphy's face for injuries. There was just an old knife scar on his right cheek from getting into a fight during his younger years.

“How are your wrists feeling? I can apply some Vaseline to the abrasions.”

“They’re fine.”

“Suit yourself.” Brown grabbed a pen insert off the clipboard. For a medium-security prison, they sure took drastic measures. “Do you have any current illnesses?”

“No.”

“Past illnesses?”

“Just the occasional cold.”

“Any health conditions? Allergies? Conditions that run in the family?”

“No.”

“Have you ever thought about committing suicide?”

“... No.”

Brown cleared his throat. “Losing your son must’ve been—”

“It was. I... I think about him every day, but I focus on the fun times we had.”

“I see.”

The pen hovered over _Suicidal ideation_, then ticked _No_. A star was placed outside the box.

“Past or present drug use? Medications?”

“No.”

“When was your most recent blood test?”

“Over a year ago.”

“Were you sexually active in the past year?”

“No. I haven’t seen or talked with Carol since November 2006.”

“So nineteen months ago. Any significance to that date?”

“Charlie was... his body was found in August. Things fell apart after that.”

Brown put the pen onto the evaluation form. “If you ever need to get things off your chest, we have a psychologist and chaplain on site.”

“I’m fine.”

“God knows even I need to talk sometimes, but I’ll take your word for it.” Brown stood up and gestured to the doorway. “Let’s check your weight, take your blood pressure, get a blood sample, etcetera.”

Murphy left the office. Just outside the doorway was a tall scale with two sliding bars. After slipping his boots off, he stepped onto it and waited while the doctor made adjustments.

“Two hundred and six pounds. You may step off and move to the height chart. Let’s see... six foot one. Please have a seat on that chair.”

Murphy slipped his boots back on before sitting down heavily. The smell of disinfectant was too strong, the heart rate monitors too loud, the fluorescent lights too bright. Another light shined into his eyes and mouth, tools were poked into his ears, a cold stethoscope checked his heart, and gloved hands grasped his own to examine his nails. He closed his eyes and sighed.

“Officer, would you unlock the handcuffs?” Brown asked.

Footsteps clomped from the infirmary entrance, halting in front of Murphy. Only his left hand was uncuffed. He lifted his arm onto the armrest, and the footsteps moved back a few paces.

“Murphy? Everything okay?”

“Just tired. Do whatever you have to do.”

His sleeve was rolled up to his shoulder and the blood pressure cuff was wrapped around his arm. Minor discomfort accompanied the inflation.

“One-fifteen over seventy-five. Normal.” Brown unwrapped the cuff. “When was your last meal?”

“Yesterday evening.”

“Okay. Rest your elbow flat and keep it there for a few minutes.”

Softer footsteps retreated and then returned. A tourniquet was tied around his arm, and a cool cloth was wiped over the skin on the inside of his elbow, smelling of alcohol. Plastic crinkled.

“You’ll feel a pinch. Are you ready?”

“Just do it.”

The needle was inserted immediately. He opened his eyes, watching the blood travel through the tube and into the vial held by the doctor. Three vials were filled and inserted into a rack. The tourniquet was removed, a cotton ball was applied to the entry point, and the needle slowly withdrew. While Brown put the needle into a hazardous waste container, Murphy held the cotton ball in place. A Spider-Man bandage was taped over it and his jumpsuit sleeve was rolled down carefully for him. Beside the doctor’s chair stood Officer Martinez, keeping a close watch with a hand on his baton.

“Try not to put too much strain on your arm. You can remove the bandage in a few minutes.” Brown grabbed a small piss container off the table and handed it to Murphy. “We just have a urinalysis and then I’ll get out of your hair.” He checked his watch. “It’s almost five. They’ll be serving dinner in about thirty minutes.”

Murphy stood up, one hand free and the other still linked to his belt. He stepped to Martinez and jingled the cuffs. Pissing into a container would be a lot easier with two hands. Martinez got the message and unlocked the remaining cuff, making them dangle by the chain. He pointed at the door to the right of the blood station.

“Go straight in there, do your business, and come straight out.”

“Yeah.”

Where else was he going to go? The door was three feet away. Murphy turned to it and entered the bathroom, shaking his head as he closed the door behind him. They were treating him like he was a dangerous criminal. There had to be worse guys in this joint. On the plus side, the bathroom wasn’t grungy like the rest of the prison. The toilet and sink were spotless, but again there wasn’t a mirror. He washed his hands, did his business, washed them again, and went straight out.

Doctor Brown had seemingly gone inside his office, but Martinez the watchdog was still here, now inches away from the door. He tipped his chin to a sealed container on the table.

“Put your sample in there.”

After doing so, Murphy held out his wrists, wincing as the cuffs were wrapped around and tightened. He had to get stuck with a hardass. Martinez stepped aside and ushered him toward the exit with a hard shove to his back. The inmates who’d been sleeping were now awake, watching him walk down the aisle. A croak came from the black and blue guy, who was barely able to open his mouth.

“Hey, hombre... you new here?”

Murphy stopped at the end of the bed. “Yeah.”

“Stay away from Sanchez. If you even look at him the wrong way, he’ll...”

Martinez prodded Murphy’s back with the baton. “That’s enough talking! Keep moving, Pendleton.”

Clenching his jaw, Murphy prevented the words from tumbling out of his mouth. _Fuck you. Fuck you for treating me like cattle._ He resumed walking, and when he reached the door, it opened from the outside to reveal a familiar face.

“Hey, Murph! Miss me?”

“Not even a little.”

He brushed past Sewell, following the same route in reverse. Left turn, down the hallway to the gate and doors, and through the big room. He avoided going near the couches full of lounging prisoners.

“Look who’s back!”

“It’s the pretty—”

This time it was Sewell who ordered them to quiet down. “Hey! Keep goin’ and I’ll write you all up.”

“Hey Sewell, did you fuck him yet?”

“One more word and you’re takin' a trip to the hole.”

The hole? Solitary confinement maybe? Whatever the threat was, it reduced the shouts to mutters, and Murphy was able to go up the stairs in peace. Sewell undoubtedly had ulterior motives. He wasn’t a guy who did anything for free, even if that thing was in his job description. Every officer should attempt to curb sexual harassment.

“Sorry ‘bout that, cupcake. They can get rowdy when there’s a pretty face around.”

Murphy stared at the double doors in the distance. Wouldn’t take long to get there. He just had to pass the tool room and security station, go through the doors and gate, and then he would be in the hallway where his cell was. Soon he could rid himself of this pain in the ass.

Sewell sighed from behind. “C’mon, where’s that firecracker?”

“He’s here, wishing you would stop talking.”

“You’ll be singin’ a different tune when you see the surprise.”

The gate couldn’t open fast enough. Was his cell decorated in a cascade of pink? Was a fucking dress and pair of high-heeled shoes waiting on his bed for the princess to wear them? He took long strides down the hallway, coming to an abrupt stop in front of the sliding cell door.

No pink, no dress, no shoes. Instead, the bed had a plump pillow and thin brown blanket. A stack of socks, boxers, folded t-shirts, and towels was beside it, protected from getting dirty by a small sheet of plastic under them. The toilet and sink had been scrubbed and a roll of toilet paper was on the floor between them. A toothbrush and toothpaste, deodorant, disposable plastic razor, small tub of shaving cream, comb, miniature bottles of shampoo and conditioner, bar of soap, and washcloth were crammed onto the sink’s narrow edges. The drawing from Charlie was taped to the chalkboard that was alongside the bed. A few mystery books and the prisoner handbook were on the shelf. Seven photos hung beside it, including one that hadn’t been in his shoebox.

Sewell patted him on the back. “It’s a picture of your new home!”

It was a picture of the giant cage. Murphy entered the cell and sat on the edge of the bed. He leaned forward and tried to hold his head in his hands, but he couldn’t. The only thing he could do was stare at the floor and wince as metal dug deeper into his skin.

“What do you want, Sewell? A new toy to play with?”

“Well...”

Black boots appeared in front of Murphy’s set. His jaw was gripped and tilted up to meet the eyes of a predator. The voice was soft, raising goosebumps under his sleeves.

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to break you.”

Leather brushed across his lower lip, and his gaze darted to the cell door. Still open. Then the security camera. Red light still on.

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to _own_ you.”

His jaw was released, allowing him to stare at the cement between the pairs of boots. He swallowed, his heartbeat nearing heights that it hadn’t reached since he’d discovered his son’s corpse. “What do I get in return?”

The other cell doors rattled open all at once, making him flinch again. A bell chimed three times through the intercom.

“Did you hear that, Murph? It’s time for the third meal of the day.” Sewell squatted and unlocked the cuffs. “You won’t be needin’ these anymore.” He clipped them to his belt and looked up, waiting for his thanks.

Again, none were said as Murphy stood up and hurried to the doorway. The back of his belt was grabbed before he could step outside the cell.

“We’ll continue this another time. Me and you, we’re gonna have a lot of fun.”

“I doubt it.”

“I guarantee it.”

Sewell let go of his belt and Murphy continued onward, not knowing where the hell he was going. Not caring. This hallway was already cursed with bad memories, and the worst part was their inevitable fate of multiplying. He’d caught the snake’s attention and there was no escaping until he was paroled or his sentence was served.

“Straight ahead, down the stairs, and take the southern hallway. You just gotta follow the noise to find the grub.”

It was still eerily quiet in this area, the only sounds being the rattle, clang, and thump of the doors opening to the next hallway. Decker remained in the security station, a corner of his mouth curling into a faint smile as Murphy passed him. He’d seen the whole thing, hadn’t he? Maybe not. The camera near his cell was positioned high in the corner, so it might’ve only caught the action in the doorway.

“What’s up, cupcake? Your shoulders are tense. Need a hand or two?”

Murphy quickened his pace, long strides allowing him to pass the tool room and reach the staircase in seconds. The bastard kept up with him, boots thudding on the cement directly behind him, and the clangs of metal stairs were joined by occasional chuckles. Sewell was having the time of of his life, succeeding on his quest to make Murphy want to throttle him.

The urge to end Sewell’s fun was put on hold by distant chatter. It came from a room down the southern hallway. The first doorway on the right led into a large cafeteria, made up of metal tables pieced together in four vertical rows. Seven prisoners stood behind the long counter at the back, serving dinner in plastic trays to their fellow inmates. The air smelled of spaghetti and meatballs, baked beans, and vanilla cake. Buttered bread, salad, and water were also on the menu.

A hunger pang struck Murphy’s stomach as he stood just inside the cafeteria. More had occurred throughout the day, but he’d ignored them, too caught up in the dread of having to live in prison. Now they couldn’t be ignored, sending constant stabs. But where would he sit? The room was a sea of dark green jumpsuits and turned heads. Leers and mutters were also being sent this way.

“Don’t be shy, Murph. We don’t have any biters that I know of.”

The encouragement wasn’t the thing that drove him to begin walking up the middle aisle to the back counter. His pride was, allowing him to keep his head high and his back straight. He couldn’t just stand there like a coward and bare his throat to the wolves. They continued to mutter among themselves, glancing occasionally at the officers standing against each wall.

“Wonder how long the fish will last before he gets turned out.”

“I give him an hour.”

“Eh... I dunno, man. He’s no shrimp.”

Someone snorted. “Put him up against Big D and he’ll be cryin’ for his mom.”

“You like dick, honey?” a skinhead asked, leaning an arm on the back of his chair as he twisted his body around. He made kissing motions, causing the others nearby to snicker.

Murphy ignored them, keeping his gaze on the counter. He grabbed a tray and stood in front of the spaghetti guy as the noodles got plopped inside a compartment. Then came the meatballs on top, bread, baked beans, salad, and cake, each prisoner dishing them out wordlessly. It must’ve taken them a while to gain the trust required for this job, and they weren’t about to sacrifice it by being assholes. At the end of the line, the seventh prisoner placed a plastic fork into the remaining slot on the tray, along with a foam cup and a folded napkin tucked beside the bread.

He turned to the tables, still not knowing where to sit. The prisoners were racially segregated, though a few of them were mingled with people of a different skin color.

“Hey honey, why don’t you sit over here?”

The skinhead scooted back on his chair and patted his lap, causing Sewell to palm his baton from beside the doorway. Coleridge beat him to the punch, already standing at the wall across from the skinhead. He raised a finger.

“Harassment won’t be tolerated, Draeger. Keep it up and I’ll be forced to escort you back to your cell.”

Draeger stabbed his fork into his spaghetti and muttered something about hacks and pigs. Was he the Big D guy? Instead of worrying about it, Murphy walked toward a group of weirdos ahead, spotting a place to sit. It was at the end of this row. A mousy-looking geek waved him over, squinting through his round glasses. Beside the geek was a thug with long dreads that cascaded down his chest, and across from the thug was a creep who would rather feast on his fingernails.

Having no other choice, Murphy sat beside the creep and laid his tray on the table. The geek leaned over and cupped the side of his mouth, speaking in a low, nasally voice.

“Murphy?”

“Yeah.”

The geek straightened his back and nodded sagely. “I heard there was a new guy. I’m Toby.” He pointed at the thug and then the creep. “Andre and Ralph.”

Murphy swirled a clump of spaghetti around his fork, guessing Toby’s question before it was asked.

“What are you in for?”

“Stole a cruiser, evaded the cops for ten hours, resisted arrest.”

The cafeteria had gone quiet enough to hear every rustle of clothing. Everyone wanted to learn about the fish, but he didn’t want to learn about them. He couldn’t care less about what they’d done to get here. The only monster that mattered was Napier.

“I came here a few weeks ago,” Toby said around a mouthful of bread. “Money laundering and... stuff. Andre was into the drug scene, and Ralph is just Ralph. Be nice to him and you’ll be okay.”

“Huh.”

Chatter resumed at the other tables, curiosity satisfied for now. Murphy began to eat, forcing each bite down. The noodles were overcooked, the meatballs consisted of an unknown meat, the bread was as hard as a rock, the lettuce and cucumbers were soft, and the cake was dry. He didn’t dare to touch the beans, which looked and smelled like they were swimming in shit. When he was finished with the rest, he filled his foam cup with water from the pitcher and chugged it down.

Ralph pointed at the beans, still chewing the nails on his other hand. The beans were the only thing he’d eaten from his own tray. Murphy slid his closer to him, making an offer that was accepted in a flurry of fork movements. Brown juice sloshed onto the other food.

“Listen...” Toby leaned across the table again. “You seem like a nice guy, and nice guys don’t last long in here. If you don’t wanna be turned out, you need someone like Andre.”

“Turned out?”

Toby pushed his glasses up and glanced around. “To become someone’s slave. You know. If they get bored of you, they trade you among their gang. Andre and I, we aren’t like that. On the outside, my buddies send money to his buddies.”

Murphy snorted. A knight in shining armor to protect him from the big bad Sewell and every fucker who’d taunted him? Good luck finding someone to do that. “How much do you pay for this protection?”

“A thousand dollars a month. Trust me, it’s worth it. I was licking boots before I found Andre.”

This kid couldn’t be serious, but he was. Baby blue eyes stared intently, showing only the truth, and Murphy frowned.

“I don’t have that kind of money. I was just a mechanic before all of this.”

Toby sighed, eyes drifting down to his empty tray. “I’m sorry, Murphy, but you’re fucked.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. I can take care of myself.”

The words came out of his mouth, but he didn’t believe them. Out on the streets, there had always been guys who were stronger and more dangerous. In here, that applied more than ever, and they had the advantage of numbers.

“You ever kill anyone?” Andre asked quietly, breaking his silence. “You ever think it’s me or him? We got some guys in here, they done bad shit. Shoulda been locked in max but here they are.”

Toby rested his chin on a hand. “Why'd you steal a cruiser anyway?”

“I got some unfinished business. That’s all you need to know.”

Their expressions didn’t change, one curious and the other hard. They weren’t able to link the unfinished business with Patrick Napier. Sewell, however, had mentioned something interesting. _I know why you’re here._ He was looking this way, far out of hearing range, mouth curved into the smallest of smiles. That sick mind was probably fantasizing again.

Coleridge blew a whistle, drawing Sewell’s attention. “Chow time’s over. Everyone stand up and face the exit.”

Chairs screeched on the tiles as the prisoners complied. Murphy had the benefit of having nobody behind him, but he did have one beside him from the nearby table, and the weird Ralph was in front. His chewed fingernails tapped on his pant legs, and his head kept turning to keep a close watch on his surroundings. Each rapid turn caused his scraggly black hair to swish over his shoulders. Somehow he offered a sense of safety, like he was too crazy for people to approach.

Except for Sewell, who remained at the exit with his baton in hand, four officers walked along the tables to ensure the plastic forks were in the trays. Coleridge was assigned to this table and gave a nod as he passed. Always trying to make new arrivals feel welcome. When the inspection was complete with each officer standing at the ends closest to the exit, he blew his whistle again.

“For those of you who aren’t on kitchen detail, you have until nine o’clock for leisure. Remember, single file when moving between points, and be standing outside your cell by nine-ten for the count. Anyone who isn't outside their cell will face disciplinary action. Dismissed.”

A herd of boots clomped on the floor as the prisoners began to file out, starting from the rightmost table. They were followed by Officer Willis, who also held his baton. None of the officers appeared to carry guns while inside the prison.

“We usually go to the library,” Toby said. “Wanna come, Murphy?”

He shook his head. Thanks to being inside a holding cell prior to his sentencing, his daily shower routine had been disturbed. “I need a shower.”

Toby gulped and faced forward. “I hope nobody heard that. Be careful.”

Murphy’s stomach churned as the third row of inmates headed for the door. The skinheads were among them, including Draeger, whose full height had been revealed. He had to be around 6’5 of solid muscle, his jumpsuit clinging to his broad frame. This guy was definitely Big D, and going by his nickname, he could be packing something big downstairs. Hopefully that discovery would never come.

With hundreds of prisoners packed into one room, the progress was slow, but finally it was this table’s turn. Ralph shuffled to the exit, hugging himself as he stared at the back of the next prisoner’s head. He was among the shortest here, maybe 5’7, but it wouldn’t be smart to get on his bad side. A sudden moment of craziness could lead to a shank between the ribs, felling even the strongest prisoner.

When Ralph passed through the doorway, a baton stopped Murphy’s progress, extending across his chest. He sighed.

“What now, Sewell?”

“You didn’t think I’d leave you alone, did you? It’s a crazy world out there, cupcake. Wait here with me.”

Murphy stepped beside him and leaned back against the wall. Toby's side of the table had begun its approach. He was at the end of the line, biting his lip as he stole the occasional glance. What was the deal with Sewell and these prisoners? Some were scared and others were chummy. A few nods and smirks were given to him, their meanings unclear, but Coleridge seemed to know. He frowned as he watched the procession, observing everyone’s body language.

A few steps away from the exit, Toby raised a hand and smiled nervously. “See you, Murphy.”

“Yeah.”

Coleridge followed them out, giving Murphy another warning look before he disappeared into the hallway. Did he suspect something sexual? With Sewell always around, there weren’t any opportunities to ask Coleridge about his suspicions.

“Well, Murph, it’s just me and you. Where to?”

The seven prisoners were still behind the counter, emptying the leftover food and collecting the dirty serving dishes to be washed. They didn’t even glance this way, but their presence was better than being alone with the snake. If the shower room was empty, what then? Would there be security cameras? Surely Sewell wouldn’t risk doing something bad if people could just walk in there.

“What's the matter, cupcake?”

Murphy jerked out of his trance. “Uh... I’d like to take a shower.”

Sewell smiled one of those smiles that meant nothing good, half of his mouth quirking up, eyes glittering with anticipation. “Sure thing. Follow me, we’ll get fresh clothes and the laundry bag from your cell.”

The hallways were empty of prisoners. Many were in the largest cell block, watching football on the television. Only two officers made the rounds as they poked their heads into random rooms. It was a bold move to leave seven prisoners unattended in the kitchen. This place was severely understaffed for its size, and being the new guy, Murphy was almost glad to have an officer accompanying him. Almost. If that person wasn’t Sewell, this would be at least tolerable.

“You remember what I said earlier?”

“You said a lot of things.”

_I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to break you._

_I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to own you._

_We’ll continue this another time._

Those were the comments that stood out, bringing more sickness. They couldn’t be forgotten, no matter how hard he tried, though the meal had offered a brief diversion. Maybe this shower would do the same thing. A delay of the inevitable was better than nothing at all.

“Everything’s gonna be just fine. If any dicks bug you in the shower, I’ll shove them in the hole. It don't get much easier than that.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Oh, Murph... always a cynic.”

After arriving back at his cell, which still had the door open, he grabbed fresh boxers, a t-shirt, pair of socks, towel, and the laundry bag. To his surprise, nothing had been stolen. Maybe the prisoners never came this way, thinking the cells were all empty. It was an advantage to be at the end of the hall. He followed Sewell to the other end, down the stairs to the big room where everyone was watching television, and through a maze of more hallways.

“We’re almost there.”

This area, Block B4, was new to him. It had an elevator to the left and yet another dimly-lit hallway to the right. Sewel chose the right path, leading him to a locker room, and Murphy halted in the entrance. Ahead was a set of double doors, their windows fogged with steam.

Sewell tapped the eighth locker with his baton. “C’mon. I got your back.”

Trusting him was the worst option, and turning back wasn’t much better. This had also been inevitable. Every prisoner had to face bad situations. Toby the boot licker was a perfect example. But being naked in a shower room, surrounded by depraved men... that was the most vulnerable situation a guy could put himself in. Even worse than being in the tiny intake cell with Sewell.

“Murphy.”

A hand gripped his shoulder, the sudden contact causing him to flinch. Soft words were spoken into his ear, raising goosebumps for the second time today.

“Believe me when I say this. You are _mine_.”

Sewell took a few steps back, his smile nowhere in sight, baton hanging at his side. He raised it, pointing at the empty locker, and Murphy walked there with his head bowed. The muffled talking in the shower room was barely heard, far more quiet than the deafening sound of defeat. Wordlessly he put his stuff inside, then removed his boots, socks, belt, jumpsuit, t-shirt, and boxers. He shoved his undergarments into the laundry bag, pulled the drawstring to close it, and squeezed it through a hole on a nearby bin. His Spider-Man bandage stood out like a sore thumb, reminding him to take it off, and he flicked it onto the floor.

Time to face whoever was in the shower room. His body tensed as he stepped around Sewell to the double doors. They weren’t locked, requiring a simple turn of the knob and a push to open one side. It didn’t close afterward. Sewell stood in the doorway, watching him approach a nearby sink to grab a bar of soap. The talking had gone silent, its source revealed: seven skinheads, including the infamous Draeger, steam billowing around their tattooed bodies. There were eight showers, four on each side. No dividers between them.

Murphy walked to the closest shower on the left and turned the creaky knob. The control was different than a standard shower, each turn increasing or decreasing the temperature depending which way, and the pressure couldn’t be changed. He opted for warm, but froze when footsteps padded on the tiles, coming from behind.

“One more step, Draeger, and I’ll toss you in the fuckin’ hole so fast that you won’t know what hit you.”

The footsteps stopped.

“Easy there, boss. Just wanted some harmless socializing.”

“Your dick is sayin’ somethin' different. Turn the fuck around and finish your shower.”

The order was obeyed, footsteps retreating. Still holding the soap at his side, Murphy didn’t move. Seven knobs creaked and three skinheads passed him on their way to the exit, where Sewell had stepped aside. The palming of the baton continued until the other four had left to dry themselves in the locker room, and then the door closed with a click. On the other side, visible through the small window, was a watchdog prepared to beat down any skinhead who tried to re-enter. Fearless.

Murphy wished he could say the same. His hands were trembling slightly, something they rarely did. He’d gotten into a few fights, got beat up even, but he’d never faced the possibility of gang rape. This world was different than the world out there. Put a bunch of men into a cage and they’re bound to change, to seek control when they could. If he didn’t change with them, he would always be the little bitch, the punk, the guy they walked all over. Broken.

Today was only the first of many. The days would get better once he was more familiar with this crazy shit. They would get better once Napier was dead. Murphy squeezed the bar of soap, releasing the tension that had risen, then took a few deep breaths as his hand slowly unclenched. This warm water was starting to cool and it was time to let go of his troubles temporarily.

Taking advantage of the solitude, he lathered himself without fear and spared no part of his body. Sewell’s lecherous face wasn’t plastered to the window as expected. Just the back of his head. Sooner or later, the ugly side of him would rise again, seeking payment for his favors. But that was a worry for another time. Murphy turned the water off and dropped the soap. Against all odds, he’d survived his first shower.

He pulled the door open, causing Sewell to step aside, and continued to his locker. The snake’s eyes danced over his glistening skin, unable to look away, but he was spared from any stupid comments. He snatched his towel and began to dry himself, using rapid swipes to avoid being under the spotlight longer than necessary. Staying true to his vow, he didn’t bend over, instead raising his legs to dry them. He shoved the damp towel into the locker so he could put on his clothes, then grabbed it again once he was finally covered.

“Looks like you’re all set. Anything else I can do for you, princess?”

He turned to the hallway, unable to face the man who’d seen him naked not once but twice. “Uh... I think I’ll read the handbook in my cell.”

“Good idea. We got a lot of rules around here, and you don’t wanna be breakin' any of them.”

Sewell chuckled at his own joke as he walked past Murphy, sliding the baton back into its holder. The elevator was taken this time, bringing them from the second floor to the third. The doors slid open, revealing the area near the stairs. Down the hall was the familiar tool room and security station, and beyond the open doors and gate was the hallway where his cell was. Sewell took his time getting there, hands in his pockets as he examined the security cameras and peeling walls.

He stopped beside the cell doorway and sighed. “I guess this is goodbye for now. Oh, almost forgot.” A plastic mirror covered in reflective foil and two granola bars were taken out of his pocket. “I got these while you were eatin’ supper. Here.”

Murphy hesitantly accepted the items. These wouldn’t come for free. “I... thanks.”

Sewell gave him another half-smile. “Just doing my job. Everybody gets a fish kit when they arrive.”

His hand reached out, but Murphy jerked his head out of the way and entered the cell. There would be no more lip caressing, shoulder patting, or anything else.

“You’re breakin’ my heart, cupcake. I thought we had something going on.”

“Can’t break something that isn’t there.”

Murphy tossed the towel onto the stack of clothes, put the mirror and granola bars onto the shelf, and grabbed the prisoner handbook, every movement watched by the smiling Sewell. What a nightmare. Anyone else would feel happy about getting these things, but they only brought more worry. When would the payment become due?

With a weary groan, he slipped his boots off beside the bed and climbed onto the firm mattress, his legs extending over the end. Unlike a normal bed, this thing was suspended off the floor and bolted to the wall using diagonal support posts at the head and foot. It wasn’t positioned in the corner, so he couldn’t rest his back against the wall unless he was facing outward. The only plus side was the comfortable pillow. He laid the bottom of the handbook on his chest and opened it, hiding his face from Sewell’s gaze.

“Well, enjoy your night. Got two hours before the count.”

After a long minute, Sewell retreated, dragging his baton along the cells. The sound of metal against metal echoed in the emptiness, stopping when he reached the end, and Murphy sighed in relief. About time he had some peace and quiet. He turned to the next page.

  
_Ryall State Prison is a medium-security correctional facility that houses male prisoners. Our goal is to strike a balance between safety and freedom while giving you opportunities to engage in education, counseling, religious services, recreational activities, and work programs._

_ This handbook will provide you with the knowledge required to succeed in this environment. Failure to abide by the rules of this facility will result in disciplinary action. Please consult page 80 for a list of staff members if you have any questions or concerns._

_ \- Warden Glen Milton_

  
Apparently this warden didn’t work on Saturdays, or if he did, it wasn’t worth his time to meet a new prisoner. Didn’t matter either way. Murphy wasn’t here to lick boots and kiss asses. Obey the rules, kill Napier discreetly, be eligible for parole after three years, and get the hell out before the nine-year sentence was complete. That was the plan.

The next few sections focused on the orientation procedures he’d already gone through: surrender of personal items, strip searches, and drug testing. Nowhere did it permit officers to press their dicks against prisoners’ asses or attempt to sexually coerce them through blackmail. Fucking Sewell. If Coleridge suspected corruption, he should’ve brought it to the warden’s attention.

Murphy relaxed his grip on the book, having been on the verge of ripping the pages apart. He had to stop thinking about Sewell. There were better things to do with his time.

  
_ Daily Schedule  _  
_ Wake-up and count: 5:30 am (exceptions for kitchen staff) _  
_ Breakfast: 6:00 am – 6:30 am_  
_ Cell inspections: 6:00 am – 8:00 am_  
_ Work/education/other: 7:00 am – 11:30 am_  
_ Visitations/calls: 8:00 am – 11:30 am_  
_ Return to cells for count: 11:40 am_  
_ Lunch: 12:00 pm – 12:30 pm_  
_ Work/education/other: 1:00 pm – 5:00 pm_  
_ Visitations/calls: 1:00 pm – 5:00 pm_  
_ Return to cells for count: 5:10 pm_  
_ Dinner: 5:30 pm – 6:00 pm_  
_ Recreation: 6:00 pm – 9:00 pm_  
_ Visitations/calls: 6:00 pm – 9:00 pm_  
_ Lock-up and last count 9:10 pm_  
_ Lights out: 9:30 pm_

_ Weekly Schedule _   
_ Barbershop: Monday – Friday_   
_ Business office: Monday – Friday_   
_ Commissary: Saturday_   
_ Education: Monday – Friday_   
_ Infirmary: Monday – Sunday_   
_ Laundry: Monday/Wednesday/Friday_   
_ Library: Monday – Sunday_   
_ Mail: Monday – Friday_   
_ Mental health unit: Monday – Sunday_   
_ Recreation: Monday – Sunday_   
_ Religious services: Monday – Sunday_   
_ Substance abuse unit: Monday – Sunday_   
_ Visitation and call area: Monday – Sunday_   
_ Workshops: Monday – Friday_

_ Clothing and Personal Property _   
_ 1\. Jumpsuits and boots must be worn at all times when outside your cell, except when showering._   
_ 2\. You are not required to be clothed when inside your cell._   
_ 3\. Alterations and headgear are prohibited unless specifically authorized._   
_ 4\. The security of issued items and personal property is your responsibility._   
_ 5\. Any instances of theft are to be reported to a correctional officer._

_ Security, Health, and Hygiene _   
_ 1\. See pages 75-79 for a list of prohibited items. If any are found in your possession during inspections, you will face disciplinary action._   
_ 2\. Concerns should be reported to a staff member who will take the appropriate action._   
_ 3\. In the event of a drill or emergency, you must cooperate with any directions provided by correctional officers._   
_ 4\. You may not tamper with or otherwise impede any security device._   
_ 5\. A respectable level of hygiene is expected. Disposable razors must be returned weekly, intact, before a new one can be issued._

_Laundry  
You will be issued a laundry bag upon your arrival. You may leave this bag in a laundry receptacle, which will be emptied by staff each day. Washing occurs on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Your clean clothes can be picked up during evening recreation periods._

  
The rules went on and on, covering topics such as dining, visitations and telephone calls, health and dental care, mail, cell cleaning services, and items allowed in a cell. He closed the book and tossed it aside onto the floor. A lot of the rules were common sense, and the most important rule was to never piss anyone off. He clasped his hands on his chest and stared at the concrete ceiling, wishing he could fast forward in time. To a time when Napier was dead.

August 2006. The month when Charlie had been kidnapped. Every day, Murphy had left work early to drive him back home. But on one particular day, his boss had insisted he stay late. There had been a backlog of cars to service. So, in his moment of ignorance, he’d asked Napier to bring Charlie home. The man had owned Napier Security, and not once had he done anything suspicious as a neighbor. What better person to do the favor?

There was nothing quite like going home and expecting to be greeted by a big hug. Instead, there’s emptiness. Charlie? No response. Louder. Still no response. A nervous smile comes. Maybe he’s just playing video games in his bedroom.

Footsteps go up the stairs, getting more urgent as they reach the top. Deep breaths. Everything’s gonna be just fine. His bedroom door is open. Please, God, let him be in there—it’s empty. He’s not sitting in front of the TV, he’s not on his bed. Maybe he’s under it. But no, there’s only dust and toy cars. He’s probably playing hide and seek.

Not in the closet, not in the bathroom, not in the master bedroom. Footsteps race down the stairs, taking them two at a time. Charlie! Answer me! He’s not hiding behind the sofa, he’s not under the dining room table, he’s not in the cupboard below the sink. The crawl space is empty and so is the backyard.

The cops. They’ll know what to do. After the phone call, the walls start to close in, making it impossible to stay in the house. Can’t breathe. Two officers come down the driveway. They exit and raise their hands as they slowly approach. Calm down, sir. We’ll find him.

They find him, days later. There’s a small boat near the lake’s edge. One officer inside, two in the water, three on shore. Charlie? Charlie? Oh God... Charlie! Charlie? The man in charge walks over with a raised hand. Mister Pendleton, I have to ask you to leave, sir. We’ve got everything under control.

Where’s my son? Where’s Charlie? Hands press against a heaving chest, stopping the approach. Mister Pendleton, you don’t want to be here. Let one of my officers drive you back to the command center and we’ll call you.

Where’s my boy? Is he out there? Charlie! They pull a brown sack out of the water and into the boat. The bottom and top of the sack are bound with rope. Charlie! Hands try to restrain, but the approach continues. Knees fall to the ground at the lake’s edge. Charlie! CHARLIE!

“Murphy? Murphy, you okay?”

Blue eyes stared from inside the cell doorway, and brows pulled together. Blond hair shone from the golden light coming through the windows.

“Coleridge?”

“The count's coming up. Just wanted to make sure you were settled in here.”

Murphy eased himself up and squinted at the window ahead. The sun was setting. It set late in June. This was 2008, not 2006. A few hours ago, he’d taken a shower. His hair wasn’t damp anymore.

Coleridge’s frown hadn’t changed. He slid a hand into his pocket and peered around the cell. His posture was all wrong. Stiff as a board. “Did you purchase that stuff from the commissary?”

“No. Sewell gave it to me.”

“Huh. How was your first day? Did he bother you?”

“Uh...”

“Murphy.”

He tilted his head down, staring at the hands on his lap. “It was fine. He didn’t bother me.”

“If there’s something you want to talk about...”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

Coleridge sighed. “The offer still stands. You come to me if you ever need an ear.”

“Yeah.”

Murphy didn’t look up until footsteps started to retreat. His day hadn’t been fine. It had been shit from the very beginning when he’d woken up after having gotten two hours of sleep. Things would only get worse from here. He was trapped with no way out except death or patience.

A whistle shrieked in the distance, followed by a stern “Count!", and he waited for more footsteps. Ready to slide off the bed and stand outside the cell like a model prisoner. None came, but the walls did, closing around him when rattles and clangs filled the hallway. Sweat trickled down his face as he leaned forward, fumbling with the back of his belt. Finally he managed to remove and toss it aside, metal clattering on the floor. He unzipped his jumpsuit and wriggled out of it, gaining further relief once he was only wearing his t-shirt, boxers, and socks. The socks also came off, landing on top of the jumpsuit.

It still wasn’t enough, but he didn’t dare to strip further. He eased himself down, head resting on the pillow. The golden light eventually disappeared, shrouding the cell in blackness. That also changed, becoming a soft blue glow as the clouds moved away from the moon.

With night’s arrival, one other thing disappeared. The red light on the security camera was gone. Slowly he sat up, folding his legs against his chest and wrapping his arms around them. His eyes closed. This wasn’t happening. When he opened them, the light would be back on.

Thump, rattle, clang. Thump, rattle, clang. Then the dragging of metal against metal.

“Born freeee... as free as the wind blows...”

The dragging stopped outside his cell and the door rattled open.

“Heya, Murph. Thought I’d pay a surprise visit. It was a bitch to get here, let me tell you. When they say lights out, they really mean it.”

He had to see if the nightmarish voice was real. His eyes opened and a sharp exhale left his mouth.

“No need to be scared. I just wanna set a few things straight first.”

Sewell stepped inside and sat on the middle of the bed, one leg folded and the other draped over the edge. Face to face, revealing the dreaded smile and glittering eyes that could only mean one thing. Murphy inched away from him, ignoring the steel support post that dug into his back. This bed was too small for two men to lay on, but not too small to get fucked on. He could be bent over the edge, he could be...

“Relax. If I wanted you that badly, my dick would already be in your ass.”

“You come into my fucking cell at night and expect me to relax?”

“We’re gettin’ off on the wrong foot here. I wanted to talk about a certain diaper sniper.”

“Diaper...” Murphy unwound his arms from around his legs and rested them on his knees. “You mean Napier.”

“Uh-huh. The same monster that diddled and murdered poor little Daniel.”

Daniel Stephens, an eight-year-old boy who’d been found dead shortly after Charlie. It had taken the jury only four hours to reach a guilty verdict. But Charlie? Napier hadn't been charged for those crimes because there hadn’t been enough evidence. He’d claimed that Charlie had already left school, that he “must’ve run off somewhere.” In reality, Napier had forced him into a sack, bound him with rope, and left him to drown in the lake. All the more reason to remind the pig of his crimes with some old-fashioned justice.

“Yeah, you remember Daniel. I can see it in your eyes, Murphy. Life without parole. Did you know that scumbag is living like a king over there? His own shower times, meals delivered to his door...”

Murphy’s hands balled into fists. The law was protecting a monster.

“You’re not gonna get to him without my help. But if I gotta put my ass on the line...” Sewell chuckled. “Well. You see where I’m goin’ with this. And you know what could’ve happened if I hadn’t been watchin’ your back.”

There it was. _If you don’t do this for me, I’ll leave you to the wolves._ Murphy closed his eyes, arms falling to the blanket. Bitch to many or bitch to one? Those were his options.

“Say somethin'. If I don’t hear a no, I’m takin’ it as a yes.”

His lips parted slightly, but a word didn’t come out, not even when warm breath whispered over them.

“Oh, cupcake... we’re gonna have so much fun together.”

A gloved hand slid between his thighs, palming his groin. He squeezed his eyes shut more tightly, but the smug smile could still be seen. By now, it had been memorized. The sickest part was that his cock wanted this, twitching to life under his thin boxers.

“Look at this, gettin’ hard like some desperate whore.”

He could only manage a choked groan, his legs opening of their own accord, cock begging to be released from its confines. It had been too fucking long since he’d been touched. The hand left him, having needed mere seconds to take him to this place.

Cold metal touched a wrist, clamping around it, and his eyes flew open. The other was grabbed in a heartbeat and wrenched behind him, cuffed with the first. Instinctively he tried to bring his hands forward, pulling the chain taut.

“Can’t have you changing your mind, can I?” Sewell pulled the baton out of his belt and used the end to tilt Murphy’s chin up. His struggles stopped. “Those are the eyes I wanted to see."

Murphy narrowed them, trying to be more brave than he felt. “Fuck y—”

“Ah.” Sewell’s other hand shot up, pressing against his mouth, fingers and thumb digging into his cheekbones. The smell of leather filled his nose. “The doors over there ain’t soundproof. You’re gonna have to watch your mouth or I’ll shut it for you.”

As sick as he was, he gave the impression that he wouldn’t turn his toy into a battered mess. He couldn’t. Except for the red wrists, there hadn’t been any injuries when Coleridge had visited before the count. Despite this empty threat, Murphy gave Sewell a reluctant nod in return, causing the hand and baton to lower. He stiffened at the words that followed.

“Good boy. Obedient little slut, aren’t you? And you’re still hard.”

It was true. Everything was true. He was still so hard, cock standing tall under his boxers, aching to be touched again. The reminder caused his face to prickle, and he bowed his head.

“Eyes on me until I tell you otherwise.”

The baton returned to his chin, tipping it up to the shadowed face. He’d made a deal with the devil without saying a single word. A zipper was undone, followed by a relieved sigh, and the baton slid into its holder.

“Now you can look down, Murph. See what I got for you.”

His gaze drifted down the light blue shirt, finally settling on the cock. Foreskin covered the bottom third of the glistening head. Six and a half, maybe seven inches long. It was the thickness that made him swallow nervously, promising more pain than something that was simply longer than average.

“Well?”

“I... I haven’t...”

“Aw, cupcake. Don’t tell me it’s your first time?”

The dark brown eyes appeared black as they darted over his sweaty face. This cell was a furnace, made worse by the knowledge of his upcoming descent into hell. God, let this nightmare end. His first time was going to be with the devil.

“Wow.” The word was breathy and full of mock wonder. “I get to pop your cherry tonight. I gotta say, I wasn’t expectin’ that with a face and ass like yours. If I’d known earlier, I would’ve brought a candle to mark the occasion.”

A spiteful response didn’t come. Murphy could only watch as the other leg swung over the edge of the mattress. The devil positioned himself between his splayed legs and rose on both knees. The veiny cock hovered an inch from his mouth, dripping onto his shirt.

“I don’t wanna make this more painful than it has to be. If you’re a good boy for me, Murph, I won’t have to go in dry.”

He swallowed and then opened his mouth, allowing the cock to be guided past his lips. Salty from a day’s worth of sweat. Fuck. He’d gone from defiance to submission in less than a day. Fingers threaded into his hair, forcing him to swallow more, and his eyes started to water.

“That’s it... take it all in.”

The head prodded the back of his mouth and continued further, coming to a stop in his throat, lips meeting the fabric of the open fly. Too thick, restricting his air. He took rapid breaths through his nose, saliva trickling down his chin.

“Look at me, Murphy.”

The devil’s face was blurry. Fingers untangled from his hair and stroked the back.

“Damn, you look beautiful with your lips wrapped around my cock. Get it nice and wet for me.”

“Mmph.”

It was all he could manage, face burning with shame. He could bite down and stop this smiling bastard in his tracks. Why didn’t he? What the fuck was wrong with him?

Sewell leaned to the side and shook his head slowly. “You’re even more of a cock slut than I thought. Still hard. Bet you can’t wait to have your ass stuffed instead.”

That couldn’t be further from the truth. Murphy could wait until the end of time and beyond, but waiting forever wasn’t an option with this man. Fingers dug in again, joined by the other hand, palms pressing on the sides of his head. The thrusts were short and unhurried, yet each one brought him to the verge of choking. Breathe. He just had to breathe instead of thinking of what would come later.

Precum trickled down his throat. He swallowed reflexively, drawing a groan out of Sewell, and the cock gave a violent twitch in his mouth. Immediately the thrusts stopped as ragged panting came from above. After a few seconds, his head was eased back until the entire slick length had reappeared. Sewell's hands returned to his sides, trembling slightly.

“Thought I was gonna blow my load right there.” He leaned down until his mouth was beside Murphy’s ear. “I’d rather blow it somewhere else. Would you like that? Hm?”

Murphy took a shaky breath. “I’d rather you fuck yourself.”

“Don’t be dramatic, princess.” Sewell pulled back and sat on the heels of his boots. “You know that ain’t an option. Not when your legs are spread open to me like a fuckin’ platter.”

He undid one of the snap fasteners on a belt pouch. A pocket knife was pulled out. With a swipe of his thumb and a flick of his wrist, the glinting blade extended. He smirked as he brought the blade close to Murphy’s erection.

“I heard about these fear boners, but I never believed the tales until now. You might wanna stay still so I don’t cut off anything important.”

Murphy didn’t move an inch as the knife ripped through the fabric at his inner thigh, below his balls, and through the other side. It made him look like he was wearing a skirt, adding to the heat on his face. The tattered remains were flipped over his abdomen, exposing his cock in its entirety. When the dark gaze flicked lower, he tried to squeeze his legs together. He couldn’t, not with this bastard between them.

“This is perfect. I wanted to bend you over the counter so bad, but now I can see that pretty face while you take my dick.”

The blade slid into its sheath and returned to the pouch. His hips were gripped and dragged halfway down the bed until his head was on the pillow. Underneath him, his cuffed hands felt like they were being crushed by his weight, and he arched his back to relieve some of the pressure.

“Look at you, presentin’ yourself to me. I wish I could say this ain’t gonna hurt, but it probably will. Try not to scream.”

Sewell gripped the backs of Murphy’s knees and pressed them to his chest, forcing the painful weight back on his hands. Something else was pressing, hard and slippery, smearing wetness over his hole. His breath came in shuddering gasps as the attempts became more demanding, nearly breaching the tight muscle, but his body refused to give in.

“You’re gonna snap my fuckin’ dick if you don’t relax.”

Murphy panted as he glared into the black eyes. “Go to hell.”

“We’re already there, Murph.”

The head shoved inside without warning. He let out a hiss, wincing at the stretch, his body finally accepting the cock that had demanded entrance. It continued deeper, splitting him open, filling him with a heat he’d never felt in this part of him. He was being penetrated by a man he despised and he wasn’t trying to stop it. His own cock rested heavily on his torn boxers, leaving a wet spot on the white fabric, only its shape visible through his blurry vision.

“You’re takin’ me so good. Almost... yeah, that’s it.”

It was gone. Completely gone, all the way inside him, no longer sticking out from the open fly. His greedy body had accepted everything, once so resistant. Now it didn’t want to let go, stretched and tightened around the thick base. He tipped his head back, letting it sink into the pillow, and winced at each forceful throb that seemed to stretch his ass apart even more. His ragged breaths eventually became soft. Piercing stabs became dull aches. Trembles became stillness.

One thing hadn’t changed. The moon continued to shine its blue light into the cell. But then all he could see was black as Sewell leaned over him, face inches from his own, hands braced on either side.

“I’ll remember this forever, Murphy. Goddamn, this face you’re making... you love it and you hate it. You want to kill me and you want me to fuck you.”

Sewell leaned back and tilted his head down, smiling the worst smile. A broad grin that made his eyes dance with pleasure. His hands caressed the thighs that remained in place against Murphy’s chest.

“I really did pop your cherry.”

The musky scent of sweat had been replaced by iron. Murphy’s head swam as he blinked at the ceiling.

“Beautiful, fucked up, and mine. It don’t get much better. Oh wait... still need to fill my cupcake with cream.”

No condom. He was going to get filled with Sewell’s cum and there was nothing he could do about it. He thrashed all the same, twisting his torso left and right, and fingers dug into his thighs to make him stop.

“You’re actin’ like I fuck everything with two legs.”

“Maybe you do.”

“Don’t be sayin’ stuff like that, princess. You got the luxury of being my first in here.”

“Lucky me.”

“Lucky you.”

The cock inside him began to move, slick and hot and demanding. His ass didn’t resist, accepting each shallow stab with a wet sound on repeat. In and out, sliding into him without mercy. His hole started to drag painfully around the thickness, making it seem like his innards would be dragged with it. He gritted his teeth, chest heaving with each breath as he craned his neck. The spit had dried, no longer glistening on Sewell’s cock. Nothing was done to replenish it. Black eyes stared at his face, and lips were curled into an infuriating smile.

A jolt came, one that made Murphy shudder and gasp, and his head fell back to the pillow. He raised his hips slightly to try feeling it again. Sewell answered by stopping with a breathy chuckle.

“Did you like that, Murph? Did I find your sweet spot?”

He shook his head rapidly. This was disgusting. The old Murphy was gone and a whore was in his place, silently begging to be fucked.

“I think you fuckin’ loved it.”

The jolt returned with a snap of hips. And another. He turned his head to the drawing taped on the chalkboard, unable to bear looking at the grin, his spread legs, the cock thrusting deeply into him, or his own twitching length. A hand wrapped around it, pumping in time with the thrusts, and he couldn’t suppress the soft groan. This was too much and not enough, taking him to the peak and then stopping when the pressure was about to be unleashed. He needed to blow his load so bad.

“Say the magic word.”

The demand was breathless. Sewell had gone still again, hand frozen and cock buried. It throbbed, bringing sweet pleasure and burning pain. There was more blood. There had to be, even though it couldn’t be seen when lying down. Something warm was trickling out, and Murphy wriggled at the sensation. His restrained hands ached beneath him, metal digging into his tender skin, and his ass longed to be free of the thick intruder.

“Just fucking do it, you bastard.”

“I was hopin’ for a please, but I guess that works too.”

A few last pumps and the tension released, painting his black shirt with white spurts. Each one caused a strong spasm around the base of Sewell’s cock, causing him to growl and grip Murphy’s other thigh. The grin had disappeared, becoming a clenched jaw as he looked down at the nonexistent gap.

Murphy’s body sagged after the final spurt left him, his heart racing a mile a minute as he struggled for air. It wasn’t over, not yet. Keeping his gaze on his cock, Sewell withdrew halfway and roughly filled him.

“I hope you’re ready. It’s comin’ soon.”

Again. Those two slams were all it took for warmth and wetness to begin spilling into him. In a second, Sewell grabbed Murphy's shirt and yanked him up enough for the inch of cock to be in sight. It visibly throbbed as it pumped a load into him, trickles of blood extending outward.

“Look at this. This is me owning you, Murphy.”

He was shoved back down, and the cock shoved back in, thrusting lazily to push the load deeper. The slick sounds returned as it slid inside him effortlessly. Beside him was a colorful drawing, cast in blue tones. He looked at it for the second time tonight, barely noticing the hands running over his thighs, and his breathing gradually slowed. The withdrawal was painless, Sewell’s softened cock popping free without resistance.

It was a strange feeling to be empty after what felt like hours. Cum slid down his ass, landing on the other half of his boxers, and his hole tightened and relaxed on its own. What the hell had he just done? His first day and he was already someone’s bitch. And not just anyone. The second-worst man in this giant cage.

“My little cupcake full of cream. You made me the happiest man alive.”

With a satisfied sigh, Sewell patted him on the cheek and then swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Murphy took the opportunity to ease himself up to a sitting position, grimacing at the stiffness in his extended legs. Sore, tired, covered in semen, and bloody. It didn’t get much better than this.

Sewell had to keep a hand under his cock to prevent the blood and cum from dripping onto the concrete on his way to the sink. After dampening a washcloth with water and a few swipes of soap, he cleaned himself off, working quickly. When not a trace was left, he rinsed the cloth, wrung the water out, and tossed it onto Murphy’s lap.

“Don’t take too long. We do surprise counts every so often.”

Murphy jingled the cuffs. “You gonna take these off so I can actually do something?”

“Of course, princess.”

Strolling to the bed, Sewell tucked his cock in his pants and zipped them up. He unclipped the keyring from his belt and bent over to unlock both cuffs. As soon as Murphy’s right hand was free, he aimed for the side of Sewell’s jaw, frustration reaching a boiling point. His punch was stopped by a loose grip around his wrist.

“Whoa there. We started somethin’ beautiful tonight. Don’t ruin it with your bad manners.” Sewell released Murphy's wrist and re-clipped the keyring, then grabbed the cuffs off the bed and attached them to his belt. “C’mon, raise your arms so I can help with your shirt.”

Murphy sighed as he raised them. Something was seriously wrong with this guy for acting so normal after he’d almost gotten punched. Any other prisoner would’ve ended up in solitary, but here was Sewell, helping him by pulling the dirty shirt over his head. It was tossed onto the floor.

“Don’t worry about the shirt, but your boxers gotta go. Get up and take them off.”

He slid off the bed and pulled the boxers just past his hips, letting them fall. The back half was covered in gobs of semen and sprinkles of blood, another reminder of what he’d allowed Sewell to do to him. He stepped out of the boxers and turned to the bed, leaving the memory behind him. There were no words of comfort as Sewell picked up the tatters and walked to the cell doorway with a spring in his step.

“See you tomorrow, Murph.”

The door had been open the whole time. It remained open after Sewell stepped through, a silent taunt. Rattle, clang, thump down the hallway. And again. Then the cage was sealed and the red light turned on.

In and out, just like that, and nobody would ever know what had happened in this cell. Murphy grabbed the damp washcloth on the mattress and wiped the cum off his dick, inner and outer thighs, and ass. The smeared blood contrasted with the white fibers, making his stomach clench. Several cycles of rinsing and washing were required before he finally felt an ounce of cleanliness. He draped the washcloth over the sink and returned to the bed to grab a fresh set of boxers from the stack. Only two left out of the original three, and he had to wait until Monday to get his laundry done. Tomorrow an officer would discover the dirty shirt during the cell inspection, but guys could get frustrated and lonely in here. Maybe he’d simply jacked off.

His red wrists could also be explained, but the other shit would be impossible. What if the bleeding started up again? What if he couldn’t walk properly in the morning? He was barely able to lift his feet off the floor and slip them into the openings of his boxers. His burst of energy had been shortlived when he’d tried to punch Sewell, and now he just wanted to rest. There was one thing left to do beforehand.

He sat on the edge of the mattress, ignoring the pain that resulted, and slid the shoebox out from under the bed. The journal and pen insert were still inside. He placed the journal onto his lap and opened it to the first page, pen in hand. When alone in his cell with only his thoughts for company, writing would help him come to terms with everything. Right?

_Dear Diary... today I allowed myself to get fucked by a man I hate. Today I learned that without him, I’ll end up as a prison bitch for anyone who wants a piece. Today I wondered if I would be better off dead instead of trapped in a cage for nine miserable years._

Not a single word was written. He put the pen into the groove between the cover and the first page and then set the journal aside. Hot tears stung his eyes as he stood up and limped to the photos hanging on the wall. He peeled his favorite one off and returned, sitting on the edge.

Carol used to be his lover, his best friend, his wife. How could she have forgiven him for all the things he’d done before and after they’d met? She’d come to know him, to accept him, to love him. Now her renewed forgiveness was needed more than ever. Being alone in a cage with nothing but one’s thoughts was enough to drive a man insane.

He laid the photo on his lap and placed the journal on top of it. Words flew across the lines.

  
_Carol,_

_ Please forgive me. I wasn’t there when Charlie needed me and I regret it constantly. When I’m awake, when I’m asleep. I shouldn’t have asked Napier to drive him home. I thought he was trustworthy. He always smiled and waved before going to work. We had a monster living next to us the whole time and I couldn’t see him._

_ After all of this is over, maybe we can try again?_

_ \- Murphy_

  
He closed the journal and put it back into his shoebox, leaving the lid beside it. The photo remained on his lap. A memory of when a bright light had entered his life, seeming to wash away his sins. This man who’d cradled a newborn boy... this was him. It had always been him, his own worst enemy, the one who always screwed up and let others down. He’d tried to start over and find his way to peace after Charlie’s murder. To forget. How could he? The monster was still alive. Caged, but alive.

Would the pain of losing Charlie ever become bearable? Time was supposed to heal all wounds, and no matter the losses that were suffered, life went on. But that wasn’t true. The world had stopped when his smile had left it forever. His sparkling brown eyes would never be seen, his cheerful laughter would never be heard, his tiny hands would never be held.

The past couldn’t be changed, but the future hadn’t been written yet. A future where one less monster was in the world. When that day finally came, Murphy might be able to forgive himself. He grabbed the photo, swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and lay on his side. With vengeance in his mind and hope in his heart, he closed his eyes, a little piece of light resting beside him.


End file.
